“On a hill far away, stood an old rugged Cross”
Things that you cling to over time through memory and sensation are amazing. For instance, I can’t cut up a banana without putting the last piece in my mouth instead of the cereal bowl or without thinking of my granma Sayer doing the same exact thing with those partially arthritic hands as she hummed or whistled. Usually a hymn.
“The emblem of suff’ring and shame”
Today, I covered the cross walk and all I could do was think about was how my gramma prayed with deeply scrunched closed eyes and how she played the organ. I also couldn’t stop thinking about my mom playing hymns on our old record player and singing along, her eyes often closed to feel the songs meaning.
Now… I’m by no means religious myself, but I like the old hymns. Most likely because the familiarity brings me back to my childhood.
“So I’ll cherish the old rugged Cross, Till my trophies at last I lay down, I will cling to the old rugged Cross, And exchange it some day for a crown.”
As I walked along fumbling with my cell phone video/email/fingers too fat to type as the bright sun hit the screen as I tried to shade it with my hat, I was humming the old rugged cross trying to remember if it was Tennessee Ernie Ford or Jim Reeves who I heard sing it the most as a kid.
I was looking at symbolism the entire time I was with the walkers. A crack in the pavement wasn’t a result of frost heaves or wear and tear. It was a symbol of the struggle of faith. How do I put that in a photograph.
“There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” I began to hear Tennessee Ernie morph in to Leonard Cohen and suddenly the old hymns were poems sung aloud or in my head.
The sun light causing me havoc as a technical issue became my friend when I began thinking symbolically. Lens flare became the presence of god’s light, deep shadows became the questions faced amid faith and so on. And faces. What do the faces say about faith?
What do they say about the knowing there is a god? The questioning if there is a god? Or the hope that there is a god? And how deeply are these questions felt?
I was taken by the teachable moments.
Jeff Little, a pastor at one of the churches talked about how this walk is meant for reflection. He said he knew how easy it is to talk with one another as they walked for over a mile stopping at 14 different stations to hear a little more of the story of Christ’s last days on earth, but to refrain from talking would allow for deeper reflection on the message.
I watched a grandfather enlist his three grand children to help him carry the cross from one station to another and then engage them to sing and listen to what was being said. This story isn’t just a story of religion, it has lessons to learn about human behavior.
I watched the expressions of children who might not fully grasp the lesson but participated in them anyway. I watched a few faces look as if to question and others mimic the adults faces and posturing.
And I watched them engage in the fun aspects of participation in the safety of a community together.
I didn’t count every head but I’d guess about 200 people came out to the Franklin Good Friday Cross Walk to participate in the winding through town, covering over a mile (again, I didn’t count the steps but I think I’m safe to say over a mile.)
People from different Christian churches coming together as a community of faith to support each other during this holy day and praise their god and the sacrifice of their savior.
Even as a non-religious person, I can witness the power of such determination and togetherness.
And certainly appreciate the extended family that belief and community gives to all of us.
